Each fingernail hit the table in four echoing taps. The fifty dollar nails demand the Post Office worker to work faster. I stand behind this manicured woman. Her platinum blonde hair hair was poof-ed up beyond belief. She could probably get planets to orbit her hair from the amount of hair spray she used. Actually, I could almost feel myself drawn in by its gravity to touch it. I imagine it for a minute. Me touching her hair, then the whole thing deflating in instant.
"Did my package get in?" The woman asks, her tan arm impatiently swinging to her side.
"Name Please?"
"Niaomi Peace."
The man scans his clip board.
"No package." he responds.
"Eugh! They were supposed to be in today! I tell you I paid good money for that express shipping!"
"Well mam, when did you order it?"
"Yesterday afternoon after my soaps." snaps Niaomi.
"I'm sorry that's just not enough time to get it out mam." Says the scrawny post office boy.
"This whole system is a crock I tell you." She grabs her leather rhinestone studded hand bag off the table and walks straight out without another word.
The post office boy exhales. His hands reach up to his scruffy goatee, he's apparently the type that participates in no shave November.
"How may I help you?" He asks.
"I'd like to ship out a package please." I say politely.
"Okay. Would you like to flat rate that?" he says turning around to a stack of flat boxes behind him.
"Yes." he places that in my hands and I bring up my grocery bag full of goodies onto the table.
The bag rustles as search within it for specific contents: green apple chapstick, Doritos, a Hello Kitty sweat shirt, A pringles can filled with homeade cookies and lastly a picture of myself.
"Oh you've got a missionary out."
"I guess you could say that.
